Saint Michael's Church, Hildesheim

Stand still for a moment and listen. Up here on the little hill, the noise of Hildesheim drops away. Your shoes press into grass and old paving, and in front of you rises a long, pale church with towers at both ends. Its shapes are simple: cubes, cylinders, steep roofs. The building looks less like a cathedral and more like a model made from wooden blocks by a very patient child. That simplicity is exactly why it is so important.

This is Saint Michael's Church, built a thousand years ago for a Benedictine abbey. It is one of the clearest surviving examples of Ottonian architecture. That term needs a quick explanation. The Ottonians were a dynasty of German kings and emperors who ruled in the tenth and early eleventh centuries. Their builders worked just before the full Romanesque style, the round-arched, heavy-walled style that spread across Europe. Here you can see that new language being born.

The man behind it was Bernward, Bishop of Hildesheim. Before he became bishop, Bernward served at the imperial court and was a tutor to the young emperor Otto the Third. He was a scholar, an administrator and a passionate patron of art. Work on the church began in the early eleventh century, around 1010. Bernward did not live to see it fully finished. He died in 1022, and the church was consecrated in the following years.

Walk slowly around the outside and count the towers. There are six in total. Two large square towers stand over the crossings, where the main body of the church meets its transepts. Four slimmer round towers hold staircases. The plan is unusual, because the church has two transepts and two choirs, one at the east end and one at the west. The building feels balanced, almost symmetrical, as if no end is more important than the other.

That balance was deliberate. Scholars often describe the plan as a careful exercise in proportion, based on a square unit repeated through the building. Medieval clergy cared deeply about order and number. For them, harmony in stone could reflect the order of creation itself. You do not need a tape measure to feel it. Even from the lawn, the masses of the church sit together calmly, without one part shouting over another.

Now step inside and let your eyes adjust. The nave is wide and bright, with plain walls rising above round arches. Look at the supports between the nave and the side aisles. They follow a rhythm: one square pillar, then two round columns, then a pillar again. Architects call this an alternating system, and it became typical of churches in this region of Lower Saxony. It gives the long space a gentle beat, like footsteps.

Then tilt your head back. Above you stretches a flat wooden ceiling covered in painted panels. This is the first real surprise of the visit. The ceiling dates from the thirteenth century, a later addition to Bernward's church. It shows the Tree of Jesse, the family line of Christ, growing from the sleeping figure of Jesse up through kings, prophets and Mary. Very few painted ceilings of this age survive anywhere north of the Alps.

And this one nearly did not survive. During the Second World War, the ceiling panels were taken down and stored away for safety. It was a wise decision. In 1945, near the end of the war, air raids badly damaged Hildesheim, and Saint Michael's was largely destroyed. When the panels came back after the war, they returned to a rebuilt church. The colours you see overhead have looked down on visitors for roughly eight centuries.

The reconstruction after 1945 took many years. Builders and conservators tried to return the church to its early medieval form, rather than to every later change it had collected. So what you see today is partly original stone and partly careful postwar rebuilding. Look closely at the walls and you may notice differences in texture and tone. Those differences are honest. They show a building that was broken and then patiently put back together.

Below the west choir lies the crypt, and this is where Bernward rests. His stone sarcophagus is still here, in the space he prepared for himself. There is a quiet detail worth knowing. Since the Reformation in the sixteenth century, the church has been Protestant, used by the Lutheran community. The crypt, however, remains in Catholic use. Two Christian traditions share one building, one above and one below, around the tomb of its founder.

Keep an eye out, too, for the carved choir screen decorated with a row of stucco angels. It was made in the early thirteenth century, around the same period as the ceiling. The angels stand in a line, each with its own face and gesture. The figures are calm and graceful, and they are easy to walk past. Give them a minute. Their softness forms a clear contrast with the strict geometry of the church around them.

Here is the second surprise. Some of Bernward's most famous artworks are not in this church at all. A great bronze column, decorated with scenes from the life of Christ in a spiralling band, was made for Saint Michael's. Scholars also believe the famous bronze Bernward Doors may first have been meant for this church. Today both works are in Hildesheim Cathedral, a short walk away. Together, the cathedral and Saint Michael's have formed a UNESCO World Heritage Site since 1985.

The church is also closer to everyday life than many visitors realise. In 2014, Germany issued a two euro coin that shows Saint Michael's, as part of a series honouring the federal states. So people across Europe have carried this little hilltop church in their pockets without knowing it. Once you know, it is hard not to smile when one of those coins lands in your hand at a café or a ticket machine.

Before you leave, step back outside and turn around once more. Notice how the towers catch the light differently as the clouds move. Notice the quiet of the hill, the trees, the rooftops of the town below. A bishop once planned every proportion of this building with care. After war and rebuilding, it still stands in the same calm order. As you walk down toward the old town, look back one last time and count the towers again.